


What's The Matter?

by SaunterVaguely



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos can cook, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mushy Feelings, Past Abuse, Past Mutilation, past noncon, they're both really stupidcute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaunterVaguely/pseuds/SaunterVaguely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the kinkmeme prompt:<br/>"i recently noticed that there are a lot of prompts right now for in scared, hurt cecil. i know just the thing to remedy this. more of them!!<br/>pre-cecil/carlos, cecil is in a really unhealthy relationship with someone that's emotionally and physically (and sexually too if you want) abusive. eventually it ends, and cecil starts dating carlos.<br/>but his previous boyfriend gave him a really screwed up idea of what relationships are like. so he acts really jumpy around carlos, expects punishment, etc. <br/>eventually carlos finds out (maybe cecil breaks a mug or something and starts begging carlos not to hurt him or something idk) and cuddles and reassurances ensue."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_What's the matter?_

_What's the matter with you lately?_

_Oh, your love is never good enough-_

_Oh, your love is lost on me._

_You don't know._

_You don't know,_

_Your love is lost on me._

-"What's the Matter" by Milo Greene

 

They're sitting together in the lab, Cecil perched atop a stool and watching Carlos adoringly with his chin cupped in his hands. Carlos isn't really doing anything particularly important, just tinkering around with test tubes and beakers, but from Cecil's wide-eyed expression and occasional dreamy sigh, it looks convincingly scientific (which is really why Carlos is still doing it). The mauve light filtering through the partially boarded-up windows catches Cecil's translucent hair, lights his third eye just right, and Carlos decides very suddenly that he's done quite enough science for the day. He sets the beaker of crushed tree bark he's holding onto the counter and turns to face his enraptured boyfriend. 

"I'm just about done for now," he says, nodding at the various glowing and bubbling containers. "How about we get out of here, maybe go up to my apartment and have some dinner?" He's managed to get his hands on what appears to be normal, canned hominy and he's been looking forward to making Cecil some pozole since he found it.

The radio host beams at the offer, practically vibrating with excitement (though thankfully not literally vibrating, like that one time). It's the first time Carlos has invited him up to the apartment. "That sounds wonderful! Let me grab my hat-" As he stands up, his hand finds the countertop and his long, slender fingers accidentally bump the beaker and send it tumbling. It spills crumbled, powdery tree bark onto Carlos' lab coat before crashing to the floor and shattering. The tree bark immediately eats through the starched white fabric, and Carlos yelps and squirms out of it, holding it at arm's length. When he assures himself that the weird, suddenly corrosive bark is not eating away at his skin, he sighs and shoots Cecil a bashful grin.

Cecil's eyes have gone wider than they ever have been, and he seems frozen in place, staring at the broken glass. "I'm sorry," he says in a hoarse whisper.

Carlos shakes his head, chuckling ruefully. "No, that was my bad- I set it too close to the edge."

"I'm sorry," Cecil gasps again, shuffling his feet in place before dropping down to the floor and trying to scrape up the shards with his bare hands. Carlos follows him down, grabbing at his wrists.

"Cecil, no, you'll cut yourself!" He shakes the glass out of Cecil's hands and checks his palms before standing. "It's okay, just let me put the coat in the wash and get the broom and I'll be right back."

The NIght Vale resident nods stiffly, and stays perfectly still while Carlos bundles up the coat and steps into the other room. When he comes back, Cecil is still sitting there on the floor, his legs long splayed out haphazard on either side of him, his spine hunched. Carlos steps forward with the broom, and when he raises it, Cecil flinches violently and that's the last straw.

"Cecil, seriously, what's wrong?"

The radio host's eyes dart up to meet his, then drop to the floor again. "I didn't mean to."

Carlos sweeps the glass away as quickly as possible and sets the broom aside, settling down onto the balls of his feet. "I know that. It was an accident."

Cecil's shoulders slump, resignation filling his face. "You're still mad."

"What?" Carlos frowns, squints in confusion at his normally manic boyfriend's inexplicable behavior. "Why would I be mad?"

"Because," Cecil draws a breath, seems to consider the question before he answers in a practiced, methodical tone. "Because I was bad, and clumsy, and I- I deserve to be punished-" 

" _What_?!" Carlos shouts the word, and Cecil immediately ducks his head like he's expecting a blow, his whole body tensing up to take it. Carlos feels the pit of his stomach drop out, and he sinks to his knees and reaches out slowly, cautiously, to touch Cecil's shoulder. "Cecil, I'm not going to- to hit you, or hurt you, or anything like that." He doesn't know if this little episode is some typical Night Vale reaction, but he's got the horrible suspicion that it's not. 

All three of Cecil's eyes are wide and shining when he raises them to meet Carlos', and he swallows, his voice raspy when he asks, "You're not?" The tip of his nose is red, and in any other situation Carlos would find it adorable, would plant a little kiss there, but right now he holds himself back.

"No, Cecil, no, of course not." The scientist lets his thumbs rub small, soothing circles into his companion's shoulders. There is something very, very wrong here, and he fully intends to pursue it, but not until that heartbroken look of expectation is gone from those big, violet-blue-green eyes. "Come on," he says, keeping his voice low and soft, like he knows Cecil likes. "Let's go upstairs."

Cecil nods, eyelids lowering, and allows himself to be pulled up and led to the stairwell. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Cecil is trying with every nerve and muscle in his body not to be disobedient. He fucked up, he knows, he broke something of Carlos' and ruined the Important Science that his beloved researcher was working on. He was surprised when Carlos didn't beat him with the broom handle or his fists, didn't break his nose or smash his jaw, didn't kick him until his ribs broke. It was weird. Maybe people from outside Night Vale handle this kind of thing differently?

It took him a few minutes to figure it out- Carlos said he didn't want to hit him. He must want Cecil to make up for his mistake in another way. He should have realized earlier; he used to be good at anticipating what was expected of him, but it's been years since his last boyfriend. He's rusty.

He follows Carlos up the stairs to the housing above, anticipation making his stomach hurt. He reminds himself how much he wants Carlos, how perfect and good Carlos is and that he has to prove that he is worthy of that goodness and perfection. He can do it. 

He's so caught up in his thoughts that when they reach the apartment, he actually bumps into Carlos' back. He immediately takes a step back, cursing himself, but before he can get out an apology, Carlos turns to look at him. "Sorry, I should've warned you," the perfect scientist says, flashing his perfect teeth in that devastatingly sweet smile. He unlocks the door (Cecil makes a note to remind him that deadbolts are illegal and that he ought to get some incantation locks) and steps aside to let him in.

The place is warmer than the lab, brightly colored and welcoming like its occupant, with the scent of spices and home cooking almost managing to cover up the typical blood-and-void smell of buildings in this neighborhood. There's a few posters and art prints along the walls, and a small, framed picture of what is probably (but not necessarily) Carlos' family. Cecil wants to climb into the walls of this place, this home, wants to always feel warm and cradled in the shelter of his Carlos. 

"Yeah, so," Carlos coughs and sticks his hands into his pockets. "It's not huge, and it's a little messy at the moment, but-"

"It's wonderful," Cecil says softly, reverently. 

His companion chuckles and closes the door, then turns back and reaches out to gently take his hand, interlacing their fingers. It's a sweet gesture, and it makes something glow deep down inside Cecil, like the time his gallbladder spontaneously turned into a cluster of fireflies but not painful. He knows it's time to make up for his mistakes, and he can't help the pang of regret at the loss of the tenderness in this moment, and the fact that he didn't think to prepare himself before he came here. He's made that mistake before, made the assumption that his partner would take the time to help him get ready for sex. He'd barely been able to walk, after, and he hopes Carlos will go easy on him their first time. 

"Are you okay?" 

Cecil snaps out of his thoughts with a jolt and blinks at Carlos' concerned face. "Yes!" He blurts, trying to fix a smile on his face. "Of course." He slips his fingers free and fumbles with Carlos' zipper, getting it down quickly and wetting his lips as he drops to the floor. 

"Wh- what are you-" Carlos stares down at him, bug-eyed, like he's genuinely surprised and confused. Cecil's not sure how to react to that, but it's probably one of those outsider things: 'Let's pretend we don't know what's happening when our boyfriends behave correctly' or something odd like that. Cecil ignores it (probably foolishly) and slips his fingers into the opened fly, stroking Carlos through his boxers and feeling a twitch in response. Good, he was right. He breathes a sigh of relief and undoes the button. 

"Cecil!" Suddenly his hand is wrenched away, his wrist held tight in a large, square, dark-skinned grip. Carlos drops to the floor, mirroring Cecil's pose, and he looks- there isn't a word for how he looks, not in English or Sumerian. Gutted, maybe, but that's not quite right; he's seen people that have been gutted and there's usually more blood and the eyes bulge a bit more... he's getting distracted again. Carlos is talking.

"Cecil," he says, "Cecil, you don't have to do that. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

This is new. He doesn't really... get it? "What?"

Carlos' grip gentles around his arm, soft palm cradling his wrist. "Why are you trying to- er, initiate sexual activity?" It's so adorable how technical Carlos gets when he's flustered. Maybe he'll talk while they're fucking, talk about science or math or how clocks are 'supposed' to work. That would be a nice distraction when it starts to hurt. He loves Carlos' voice. 

"I'm- because I need to make up for earlier?" He tries, uncertain. 

"I told you I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not mad, I swear to god, I just want to know what's wrong." None of what sweet Carlos is saying makes any sense. 

"I- I don't-" Cecil can't figure out what he's supposed to do, how he's supposed to respond. He has to get it right or Carlos will leave, and he'll do whatever it takes to keep that from happening. "I can't-" His eyes are filling with tears of frustration and fear, because the longer it takes him to work out what Carlos wants the more punishment he'll have to endure. 

A warm, careful thumb brushes wetness from his cheek, and when he risks a glance up he sees that his tears are reflected in Carlos' brown eyes. "Cecil," his voice is so sad, breaking as he speaks. "Who did this to you? Who made you think-" Carlos shakes his head, shuffles closer and wraps his arms around the stunned, terrified man. 

Cecil is shaking. He's lost and scared and his head is tearing itself apart because it doesn't make sense, none of this is right but it feels so good to be held, to be wrapped in Carlos' warm arms, resting against his broad shoulders and firm chest. "Please," he manages, voice cracking. Carlos only holds him tighter, and he can feel that he's not the only one trembling. The scientist pulls Cecil into his lap, the taller man's long legs stretched out across the floor, and slowly Cecil's arms come up and wrap around Carlos' back, tattoos shifting nervously along pale forearms over worn flannel. Cecil shuts his eyes tightly, feels himself quake apart in that embrace. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely reviews! They're very motivational!


	3. Chapter 3

 

He cries into Carlos' shirt for a long time. Neither of them is sure exactly how much time passes, but when Carlos finally lifts his head, the sun appears to have drifted toward the horizon enough to cast dusky shadows across the town outside. Cecil's sobs have faltered into slow, shuddering breaths, and when the scientist tilts his head down he sees that all three of those brilliant eyes are closed, red-rimmed and exhausted. 

Carefully, so carefully, Carlos slips one hand under Cecil's knees and the other around his back, lifting him easily (he barely weighs a thing, and Carlos makes a mental note to conduct some research into the general bone density of the Night Vale population). He carries his precious cargo into his bedroom, thinking to himself that really, this is not the way he envisioned this situation. He deposits Cecil into the bed, and with some awkward maneuvering manages to get the blankets tucked up around him without waking him. He slips the glasses off of Cecil's face and places them delicately onto the bedside table. After a brief hesitant moment, he reaches down and brushes a few hairs away from the sleeping man's third eye, then bends and presses a light kiss there before stepping out into the living room. 

 

Cecil wakes slowly, slightly unwilling to open his eyes. He feels warm and, bizarrely, safe, cradled in softness and comfort and the heavenly smell of his beloved Carlos. 

Carlos.

His eyes blink open, going wide when he realizes where he is, what must have happened. He sits up, briefly fighting his way out of the blankets he's been so tenderly nestled into, fumbles for his glasses, and looks around as a pale purple blush lights his cheeks. Carlos' room is simple, but welcoming and personalized here and there- the periodic table on the wall (seems to be missing a few things, like qvitxium and inexplicium), the ties hanging from the closet door. 

He's so enraptured by this slice of home, this peek into Carlos' personal life, that he doesn't hear the footsteps down the hall, so when the bedroom door creaks open he can't help flinching and shrinking back into the blankets. 

Carlos steps into the room in an apron, sleeves rolled back around his big, dark-haired forearms, and carrying a tray with two earthenware bowls and two mugs, all of which have steam rising from them. He's obviously making an effort to move quietly, and when he sees that his guest is awake, his flawless teeth expose themselves in that now-familiar bashful grin. "Hi," he says, in his soft calming tone, "I was trying not to wake you..."

"You didn't!" Cecil blurts, blushing harder. "I woke myself. Or maybe the Faceless Old Woman in your apartment woke me, I'm not sure."

Carlos nods, though he looks vaguely discomfited as he always does when Cecil mentions the Faceless Old Woman. He approaches the bed and carefully sets the tray down on the small table next to it, settling onto the mattress without touching Cecil. Which is a shame.

"So," perfect Carlos says, reaching back and passing a mug to the man curled up next to him. "I wanted to ask you a few things, and clear up a few other things. If that's okay."

Cecil nods, peering into the mug as it heats his hands. 

"It's mexican hot chocolate," the scientist explains. "It's kind of spicy, sorry, but it's the only way I know how to make it..."

"It smells amazing," Cecil says before taking a slow sip and making a low noise of appreciation. "Tastes amazing." That makes Carlos swallow hard and his caramel cheeks flush for some reason. 

"I've, uh," Carlos clears his throat and picks up a bowl. "I've also made some pozole... you eat pork, right?" He glances down into the broth. "This is pork, I hope."

"Where did you buy it?" Cecil asks easily, accepting the bowl. "Graham's Chocolates and Butchery or Todd's Tonsorial Parlour?"

"Uh. Graham's?"

"It's pork."

Carlos nods, relieved, and picks up his own bowl. For a few moments they eat in silence (except for Cecil's exclamations and praise at how delicious the soup is and Carlos' shy acceptance of the compliments). Eventually, Carlos sets his bowl aside, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and turns to face Cecil. He's not entirely sure where to start, so he dives right in with, "How many boyfriends have you had?"

Cecil freezes again and looks up nervously from his mug, unsure of what Carlos wants to hear. He remembers his last boyfriend's response to finding out he hadn't been Cecil's first ("dirty slut, fucking whore"), and his words falter. 

Carlos notes the hesitance and gingerly places a hand on Cecil's knee, like he did that night under the lights. It seems to lessen the radio host's anxiety, at least enough for him to answer. 

"Three." 

Carlos stops himself from demanding names, addresses, because he knows logically that hunting down his boyfriend's exes and beating them viciously with a lab stool won't really solve anything and probably wouldn't help Cecil in the long run. It would just feel really, really good. "Okay. And all of them were... that is to say, they all would have gotten angry at you? Would have- hit you or hurt you or-" He doesn't finish that sentence because he doesn't want to start reconsidering that lab stool idea. 

"Well, um," Cecil takes another slurp of his hot chocolate, averting two of his eyes and leaving the third to watch for Carlos' reaction. "Ste- uh, the first one," he began, "He would just hit me, or, or kick me or throw things. That sort of stuff. And then the second one taught me how I'd been apologizing wrong, and showed me how to-" He gestures toward Carlos' crotch, and is about to add that he really is very good at that, really, when he sees the scientist's hand ball into a fist. He cuts himself off, finishing quickly. "And then the third one didn't last very long and it was just mostly me messing things up and then making up for it."

Carlos is literally shaking with fury, but he's endured enough high school bullies and prying relatives that he's learned to mask his emotions well. He also spent a summer volunteering at an animal shelter, working with abused and terrified creatures, and so he keeps his movements slow and steady as he puts his mug down and takes Cecil's hand, thumb rubbing across his knuckles. He waits until Cecil meets his gaze with all three eyes before speaking. "Cecil... I swear to you, I will never, ever hurt you like that. Nothing you do could make me do those things, and nothing you did or do could make you deserve them. You're amazing, and I adore you, and I don't ever want you to be scared of me." He finishes the pledge by raising the hand in his grasp and kissing each of Cecil's fingertips, one by one, before looking back up. 

Cecil has tears in his eyes again, his lower lip trembling, and he makes a strangled, tiny whimpering sound. When Carlos opens his mouth to apologize for freaking him out or making him uncomfortable, Cecil flings himself forward and presses their lips together. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Kissing Carlos is like kissing a sunset, like inhaling the cosmos and holding it inside him, the warmth of ten billion suns. He's kissed his other boyfriends, but generally they preferred it when he "got right down to business". When they had been willing to kiss him they had been biting, bloody affairs. Carlos, though, seems to revel in the slow, seductive press of lips and tongue, the mingled breath and soft sounds when they separate. His arms go around Cecil's shoulders, the hold firm and grounding but not trapping, easily broken free of if Cecil wanted. 

They pause, eyes meeting, and Carlos lets a slow, unbearably fond smile spread across his face. Cecil returns it readily, like he always does, and rubs their noses together. It feels so good to be like this, to have this long moment of tenderness. Eventually, he knows, Carlos will realize that he's made a mistake, that Cecil is really bad and worthless and nowhere near good enough, but for now Cecil can cling to him and be wrapped in his scent and his warmth. Carlos' fingers rub comfortingly against Cecil's scalp, getting a contented thrum from him.

"Mmmh, Carlos," Cecil breathes, voice rich and dark. He squirms back on the bed, rolls over onto his belly. "Do you want to fuck me?" He shifts his hips up, looking over his shoulder at the scientist. He's still weary and shaken from his outburst, but Carlos has been so good to him, so kind and sweet and he wants Carlos to feel good, and this, he knows, will make Carlos feel good. He hasn't been with anyone in almost two years; he's tight and hot and while it will hurt he knows it will be worth it to hear Carlos gasp and feel him come.

Carlos' hand comes down on his shoulder, turning him back over, and Cecil blinks up at him questioningly. 

"Cecil..." Carlos has that sad, disappointed look again, his eyebrows drawn in. 

"Sorry," Cecil says automatically, sitting up. "What do you want me to do? How do you want to fuck me?"

"Cecil," Carlos says again, his voice firmer. "Listen. I want you. God knows I do, you're-" He trails a hand up Cecil's leg like he can't help himself. "But I told you, I don't want to hurt you. When- if- we decide to be intimate, we won't be 'fucking'. We'll be making love. Fucking is something people do _to_ each other." He smoothes his hands up Cecil's arms, rests them on his shoulders, and leans in to kiss him again, lightly. "I want to make love _with_ you."

"Oh, Carlos," Cecil rasps, taking a shaky breath. "Perfect, beautiful, amazing Carlos. I can't believe you're real. You're like-" His voice hitches when Carlos tilts his head and begins pressing soft, sucking kisses to his throat. "-like the moon, like mountains and angels and- and-" His odd compliments (compliments?) trail off when the mouth on his neck reaches the faint raised lines just under his jaw (Carlos wonders absently if they're scars or vestigial gills). 

" _Dios mio_ , you're gorgeous," the researcher says huskily. He knows this is a bad idea, at least right now, but oh, god, he wants to erase that miserable look of abject sorrow and fear from his mind and replace it with breathless pleasure, wants to hear Cecil's smooth voice go jagged when he comes. That line about making love was cheesy, he knows, and any other time he'd be embarrassed to the point of stuttering, but he also knows that it needed to be said. Cecil's already shuddering and gasping in his arms, and he lays the newscaster down gently onto the bed once more, slowly moves to rest atop him with their hips lined up, their breath passing back and forth. He rolls his body against Cecil's in a slow, steady wave and feels a surprised moan rumble through the chest under his. "Is this okay?"

Cecil blinks up at him, brow wrinkling like he's not sure what to make of that question- he probably isn't. "Yes?" He sounds so uncertain that Carlos pauses, starts to shift back and away, and Cecil reaches out and grabs at his shoulders frantically, pulling him back in. "Yes! Yes, this is- please, yes."

Carlos hovers above him for a moment, peering into his eyes, and nods once before lowering himself back down and licking a line along Cecil's prominent collarbone. It gets the reaction he hoped for; Cecil shivers and clutches at him harder, toes curling. "C-Carlos!"

The scientist lets his hands slide up underneath his boyfriend's shirt, feeling a slight squirming sensation under his palms as Cecil's tattoos wriggle along his skin. He finds a nipple with each thumb, circling them until he gets another gasp, and grins into the slender, bared throat he's nuzzling. Still keeping his movements slow and easy, he begins unbuttoning the oddly iridescent shirt Cecil is wearing. He feels Cecil tense up again, and he pulls back to lock gazes with him, checking in. The radio host's hands are fluttering over Carlos' clothes, like he wants to return the favor and strip him of his flannel shirt. Huffing out a faint, fond chuckle, Carlos loosely clasps both hesitant hands in his own (not missing the flash of fear in Cecil's eyes) and brings them to the line of buttons down his front. "It's okay. You can touch me wherever you want."

Cecil makes a whimpering sound and digs his fingers into the fabric, tugging and prying it open frantically before running his shaking hands over Carlos' broad chest, his breath hitching when he finds the dark curls of hair there. "Oh." His voice goes radio-deep at the discovery, and despite his best efforts at self-control, he feels himself twitch and stiffen in his pants. It only seems to spur Carlos on, the scientist's mouth burning and wet against his skin and making him squirm. He uses one hand to undo the button on Carlos' pants, desperate as he slides them down as far as they'll go. Carlos' hands slip up his sides, around to his back, and he flinches and tenses up as he realizes what's about to happen.

"Cecil? Are you-" Carlos' melodious voice falters just as his fingertips find the rough, uneven circles of scarring across Cecil's lower spine. He glances up only to see that Cecil has his eyes scrunched shut again, his face flushed with shame. "Oh, no, don't- don't do that. Cecil-" He cups his friend's chin and brushes a thumb along the corner of his mouth. "It's okay, you don't need to be scared."

"S-sorry," Cecil's breath is hiccuping in and out of him, like someone on the verge of a panic attack. "I- I just- I'm sorry." 

"For what?" Carlos asks, slow and calm, still stroking his cheek lightly.

"For-" The trembling man shakes his head, eyes cracking open. "For not being..."

"Perfect?" Carlos' smiles wryly, eyes shining, and then he sits back and Cecil feels the panic double because no, no, Carlos is leaving, he's done and it's all ruined-

-but then Carlos doesn't leave, he doesn't storm out. He just settles back on his knees between Cecil's legs and peels off his opened shirt. Then he leans in and takes a loose hold of Cecil's hand, brings it palm-first to his chest again. He slowly drags it down, over the slight softness of his belly from years of deskwork, to the flesh just above his hip. Cecil's eyes widen as he feels the dimple of a scar, about two inches long. "Appendix," Carlos says, letting the touch linger before continuing back and up to another jagged patch of skin on his right shoulder blade. "An accident when I was twenty; got burned by acid in the lab." And finally he draws down to the sliver of thigh showing above his yanked-down pants (not missing the way Cecil's pulse skyrockets at that) to two almost-healed semicircle punctures. "My neighbor's dog when I was eleven." He breathes out a short, self-depricating chuckle again and slowly releases his hold, then leans in to kiss the stunned expression Cecil has, adding, "What was it you said...? 'It becomes perfect when you learn to accept it for what it is'. Right?"

"...Right," Cecil agrees with a shaky but brilliant smile. "Oh, _Carlos_ , I love you so very, _very_ much." 

Carlos returns the smile, all square white teeth and shining eyes, and kisses him again. "I love you, too."

They kiss for a long while, just slow, fluid motions into each other, like waves on a beach, their hands caressing and exploring, greedy for the tactile secrets of skin and breath. Carlos takes hold of the unbuttoned shirt Cecil still wears and carefully pulls it off, dropping it onto the floor as he dips his head and nuzzles at the line of light hair trailing from Cecil's bellybutton down. When that earns him a squirm and a hiccup of startled laughter, he grins and continues, tongue lapping at the triangle of skin he finds when he unzips the (thankfully not furry) pants his boyfriend is wearing. He feels Cecil shudder at that, and a peek upward tells him that it's very much a good shudder- Cecil is flushed, eyes barely open through translucent lashes, his mouth slack. Perfect. Carlos cups a hand over the growing bulge in Cecil's briefs and is rewarded with what sounds like a surprised moan. 

"Carlos-?" Cecil isn't quite sure what's happening here- isn't this situation supposed to be reversed? His hands bunch the blankets under them, uncertain, until he feels Carlos reach up and catch a nipple between two fingers, rubbing it into a sensitive peak. At that, he can't help himself; his hands fumble downward and tangle into Carlos' magnificent hair. Instead of snapping at him, Carlos only groans happily and hooks the fingers of his free hand into the hem of Cecil's underwear, tugging it down and letting his half-hard cock bob free. 

Carlos wonders to himself how long it's been since someone's done this for Cecil, whether any of his exes ever bothered to help him get off or even touched him gently, and then he has to stop himself from thinking about that at all because here come the angry revenge fantasies again and now is not the time for that. He tips his head down and gives the base of Cecil's penis a few soft licks, relieved to find that he only tastes musk and sweat and skin and faint traces of ozone (he wasn't entirely sure what to expect, to be honest). When that results in a whimper and a stuttering of his name, he drags his tongue up the shaft and swallows Cecil's length, pausing halfway to breathe through his nose before sinking all the way down until his nose is brushing the light-haired skin at the bottom. Cecil, above him, goes crazy, writhing and trying to bite back desperate moans at the sensation, and when Carlos bobs his head the radio host's fingers dig into his scalp, just the right amount of tingling pain. Carlos makes a muffled sound of his own and uses a hand to cup and massage Cecil's balls. He briefly, deliriously, imagines what it would be like to hitch up Cecil's legs and move his mouth downward, to lick into him and rim him into incoherence. He imagines the way Cecil would squirm and make suppressed little noises, getting louder as he got closer and lost control, and then immediately has to reach down between his own legs and squeeze himself as his erection gives an almost-painful throb of arousal. 

Cecil's mouth is hanging open as he pants and mewls and he reaches up to clamp a hand over it, but Carlos makes a mumbled "mm-mm" sound and pulls the hand back down, securing it in his hair once more as he swallows around him. Cecil can't help the little wail that escapes him, and he arches his spine, twisting against the sheets, and comes harder and faster than he has in years. With the last part of his brain that isn't whited out by pleasure, he thinks he should have warned Carlos before he did that, but it doesn't seem to matter; the scientist only makes deeply pleased noises and continues to suck and swallow until it's over. 

Afterward, Cecil lays sprawled across the bed, limbs akimbo, eyes staring unfocused at the ceiling. Carlos crawls up the bed, dropping kisses to random spots of flushed skin as he does. Cecil's hands fumble at Carlos' hips, trying to reciprocate, but he gently pulls them away and nuzzles the palm of one, murmuring, in a voice that might be hoarse from going down or quiet from embarrassment, that he's already finished. Cecil blinks up at him, and a slow smile crawls onto his face.

The room is silent in that perfect, post-coital way, warm and soft all around them as they settle into the mattress. Carlos cuddles up behind Cecil, fingers writing invisible equations onto his back. Unthinking, he traces the six circular scars and feels Cecil flinch, but when he opens his mouth to apologize the radio host shakes his head.

Cecil shifts, takes a breath, and speaks softly. "I, uh- they- I used to have, um, more limbs."

"More-?" Carlos frowns and blinks down at him, unsure if he heard correctly.

"Limbs. Er. Tentacles, I guess." He twists his neck (the range of motion in Cecil's neck is still pretty startling when unexpected, almost owl-like) and glances down at the scars. "My first boyfriend hated them. At first I tried buying a binder, to sort of keep them tucked away, but it hurt so much and sometimes they would just slip out and-" He swallows, blinks hard against the wetness in his eyes, and Carlos rubs between his shoulder blades coaxingly. "And one day they got out while we were fu- um, having sex and he-" He's shaking again, and Carlos can feel tears in his own eyes. Cecil clears his throat, forces himself to continue. "He- he got a knife and he pinned me down and he- cut me. He cut off my... And then he burned me with a lighter, to keep them from growing back, he said." He sniffles, wipes his nose with his arm and finishes, "That was when I left him."

Carlos is almost trembling with rage and sorrow and the urge to wrap Cecil up and take him away, hide him from the world, but he keeps himself calm. For Cecil. He bends his neck and presses a gentle kiss to each scar, hearing Cecil gasp shakily, and he trails more kisses up the reporter's spine until he reaches his shoulder, where he rests his chin. "I wish I could have seen them," he says eventually, arms going around Cecil's waist. "I bet they were amazing. I'm sorry he took them." He kisses the light dusting of freckles across one shoulder. "You're beautiful either way."

Cecil turns in his arms, tucks his head under Carlos' chin and lets out a quivering breath that might be a sob. "Thank you," he whispers into Carlos' chest. "Thank you, thank you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that was originally going to be the end of it, but now I'm tempted to do a follow-up where Carlos or someone goes after Steve. My concern is that it might be out of character for Carlos in this instance.  
> Please, share your thoughts. Share them by leaving a review, or by shouting them at the nearest bird.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are, as always, much appreciated!


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